


You Gotta Friend In Me

by Doilooklikeicareatall, dontbecooler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, teen!lock, vague mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doilooklikeicareatall/pseuds/Doilooklikeicareatall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbecooler/pseuds/dontbecooler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is sick of school, and of life, but John is having none of it...<br/>What will happen when Sherlock tries to push him away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Gotta Friend In Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yay for Omegle and RP :3 this is another rp I have done with doilooklikeicareatall!! Whoop.  
> She is John (who is eighteen)  
> I am Sherlock (who is seventeen)  
> And Mrs. Hudson makes an appearance (who is sixty-eight)

Sherlock looked both ways before entering the men’s bathroom. His hand went slowly to his pocket, taking out a sharp blade. He sat on one of the toilets, but he didn’t close the door completely, this had to be fast. By the second cut he heard someone come in but he didn’t care, but just seconds later he sensed that the door was opening and looked up to see someone, small, blue eyes, sandy-haired.  
“You know you could knock on the door right?” Sherlock said angrily.

John stared at the boy in disbelief for a moment, before replying,  
"The door wasn't locked, I didn't think anyone was in here."

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes.  
"Mind closing the door then? I have things I'd like to do." He nodded towards his arms, feeling light headed already.

John stepped in, closing the door behind him, and leaning back against it.  
"Sure, go ahead. I'll patch you up after you pass out."

Sherlock frowned. "I don't see why you would. I'm of no importance to you, and you have a class to be at soon, if the way you dropped your medical books just before entering are anything to go by."  
A wave of nausea washed over him, and Sherlock blinked furiously to stay more focused.

"Who says you're of no importance? Class can wait, I'm not letting you bleed out."

"I say I'm of no importance, now if you please let me bleed out that would be great," he retorted sharply, annoyed at the sandy haired boys stubbornness.

"I think you are important. And now I know you're trying to bleed out, I can't just let you."

Sherlock sighed. "Go get the nurse then, she'll help too. Actually, why don't you tell the whole school? They'd love to know Sherlock Holmes is actually trying to off himself."  
Sherlock leaned into the side of the stall, breathing heavy.

"I'd rather not tell them. Because I'd rather you weren't trying to." John gave a faint smile.

Sherlock glared at the smile. "Though your sunny disposition would be nice for someone else, I find it completely unbearable. Run along."

John rolled his eyes, and his voice was flat when he replied, "Honestly, I couldn't care less what you think of my disposition. I just want to stop you from dying in a bathroom stall."

"Go find help then, I'll still be here when you get back."

"It's not like any of them are actually going to want to help. Give me a moment." He reached into his back pocket, and got a small medical kit out.  
"Give me your arm."

Sherlock pulled his arm closer to himself. "Piss off," he snapped, curling into himself so the feeling of  
wanting to vomit faded slightly.

John sighed. "Don't be an arsehole. Just give me your arm."

"Just piss off," Sherlock replied, feeling childish, but that didn't matter.  
No matter how much he gasped not enough air was getting to his lungs. He groaned.

John smiled softly. "Being pissed off at me isn't going to help the situation."  
He tugged Sherlock's arm away, and began disinfecting the cuts.

Sherlock hissed at the sting, about to feebly try and pull away, but he couldn't do it.  
He moaned again.  
"Leave me alone," he said quietly, wanting the blackness at the edge of his vision to overwhelm him and never let him go. Let him escape all the noise and terrible brightness. The people didn't help. Why was this guy trying to keep him in this living hell?  
"Go away," he said, slightly louder.

He sighed. "I can't do that, Sherlock. Trust me, it's not worth what you're trying to do, and.. I know that for a fact. It hurts, even worse than it does here, and there's nothing you can do to make it any better. Now, please just let me help."

"How the hell do you know my name?" Sherlock snapped, but it lacked any power, "And what the hell do you mean death won't be better than this terrible thing people call living?" He looked down to his feet, swimming slightly in the red that was down there.

"Everyone knows you. You're the amazing guy in my chemistry class that outdoes the teacher every time. And it isn't better, because there are so many things out there making it worth it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Caring is not an advantage," he said flatly. Sherlock had no time for sentiment.  
"There is nothing out there that will make what I go through worth it." That was too many words, though Sherlock afterwards as everything spun around him.  
The blonde was still working at his arms, but he had gone numb a little while ago.  
John smiled sadly. "If you say so, Sherlock. I... you shouldn't have to feel like this."

Sherlock sighed. "Tell that to the guy how burnt out my locker today, or defaced my whole room and ripped my research. I distinctly remember the word 'freak' a lot." Sherlocks head spun.  
Too many words, too many words.

John sighed as well. "You don't need that sort of stuff. You're not a freak, you're more brilliant than anyone has a right to be."

Sherlock let out a small "Huh," as he finally became too light headed. He was conscious, but he couldn't hold his body up against the stall wall anymore.  
He fell forward, not cracking his head on the tiles because of the strangers quick reactions.

John held him up loosely, and said softly, "I'll take you to the nurse now. She'll help keep you alive. Now, please. Just stay awake for long enough for me to get you there."

"Pis' ov," Sherlock mumbled in reply, thinking that it would be a great idea to go to sleep. He was extremely tired, and with sleep death might come too.

John chuckled lightly. "I know, Sherlock. You want me to go. But I'm not going to. I can't just let you die. You're much too special for that."

If Sherlocks eyes were open he would have rolled them. He felt himself get lifted bridal style, and heard his razor drop to the floor. He felt a few drops of blood come off his arm, and then they were moving. They got out into the hall and a girl shrieked, Sherlock flinching at the noise. People were annoying.

John sighed softly, and continued carrying Sherlock, disregarding the shocked looking girl, until he made it to the infirmary.

There was a bed, and murmured voices, Sherlock recognized. The nurse and the strange boy who helped him.  
"Sherlock?" Came the nurses voice, "can you hear me?" Sherlock pointedly ignored her.

John rolled his eyes, and said, "Open your eyes, you twat. She's here to help, and I don't want to have to pinch you."

Sherlock flicked his eyes open, pursing his lips. Strange boy indeed.  
He glared at the boy, not entirely focused, and then he looked at the nurse, as she bustled over him. "Do you want me to call your brother or your parents?" She asked, and Sherlock snorted. "No need to worry them Mrs. Hudson," he said tiredly, talking casually to the woman he had seen mulitple times due to his tendency to OD slightly, or injure himself in an experiment.

John leaned against the wall, watching the two of them with an unreadable expression.

Mrs. Husdon quickly sat Sherlock up, wrapping up his cuts and putting some anti-bacterial cream on the scabbed ones on the other side.  
She gave him some food, and when was sure he would survive, she clipped Sherlock over the ears.  
Sherlock smiled slightly into his half eaten sandwich. "Thanks for that," he muttered, deciding to communicate to the blonde boy.  
"Still here then," he stated, not looking at him.

John nodded slightly, arms crossed over his chest. "Of course I'm still here. No need to thank me."

Sherlock paused. "Thank you," he said quietly, hoping it wouldn't be heard.  
He set his sandwich down, not really hungry anyway.

John smiled softly, and nodded. "As I said. No need."

Sherlock looked at him. "John Watson, I will probably try again, so don't feel so smug." Sherlock noticed how his shirt was named in the collar.  
Why was he still here anyway?Sherlock was nothing to him.

John shrugged. "Hopefully I'll be around next time as well. I'd rather you stuck around, as distasteful as the idea may seem to you."

Sherlock scoffed. "Why would you care?" He snapped, leaning his head back on the pillow.

John smiled slightly. "Does it really matter? You couldn't care less about what I do, why should I tell you?"

Sherlock fixed his gaze on John, icy eyes flashing slightly. "To know if there is actually a reason to stick around," he stated matter of factly.

John rolled his eyes. "Right, as if anything I say to you is going to help. I care because you're interesting to me. You're smart, you don't take crap from the arseholes that go here, and I'd kinda like to be friends. If you'd like."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I'm not really a friend person," he said slowly, unsure what to do with the offer.  
His first instinct was to push John away, but he was interesting to Sherlock too.  
"I don't know how to reply to that." He said after a little while.

John chuckled softly. "Think it over for a little if you have to. But I'd really like it if you said yes. You'd be a good friend, I think."

Sherlock scoffed, but he closed his eyes and put his hands under his chin, thinking.  
If John was planning to keep him alive he would be an asset, and Sherlock didn't have many friends. This would be a good thing. A friend.  
"Yes?" He said cautiously, keeping his eyes closed.

John looked at him for a long while, before grinning. "Good. That's... that's really good. Thank you."

Opening one eye, Sherlock looked at John. "We'll see," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We'll see."


End file.
